


Breathless

by orphan_account



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Asphyxiation, Blow Jobs, Breathplay, Established Relationship, Hand Jobs, M/M, Public Sex, kind of, kind of but not really okay things are complicated, this was for the drrrgiftexchangething but now that it's over i guess i can publish it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-26
Updated: 2015-12-26
Packaged: 2018-05-09 12:10:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5539484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The lack of air is slowly becoming more and more obvious, clouding his mind as crimson eyes do their best to stare at half lidded honey ones, growing unfocused in a matter of seconds. It’s too much. He can feel his eyes rolling back in his head, panic latent yet so far away from his grasp.</p><p>Trust, trust.</p><p>It’s all about falling and crashing when both hands stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breathless

It always starts the same way.

Fists turn into lethal punches that always seem to miss their target, and knives up a dark sleeve are sent flying, cutting through the air and clothes they find on their way. It’s funny how that seems to make more damage than an attempt at trying to penetrate sun kissed skin and oh yes, tearing apart his dear brother’s clothes is a line Izaya seems to cross on purpose too many times to count.

For a second, everything goes still, from their steps to the laughter that threatens to slip past the informant’s lips. The calm before the storm, he muses, quirking an eyebrow and waiting for a much desired reaction the other seems to be denying him.

The growl that follows sounds like victory to his ears.

One, two, three—-

“Get the fuck back here, flea!”

_Ah, score._

“Only if you ask nicely, Shizu-chan. Don’t you know it’s Christmas? Surely even you know how to behave in this time of the year, don’t you?” He shakes his head, grinning at the blond like a child that just managed to get what he wanted. In a way, that is exactly what he is.

“You don’t fucking deserve it!”

“So rude. And here I thought I’d give your brother my best wishes later.”

That does it.

The chase begins again, breaths coming out as hot puffs of air that resemble Shizuo’s addiction to nicotine, Izaya’s lungs burning as if he was the one with the problem - perhaps he is, a little voice whispers with an amused tint from the back of his mind - but he keeps running faster, willing his legs to move past his limits.

The warm breath that seems to hit the back of his neck every time he takes a turn around a corner only makes him suppress a shiver that has nothing to do with the freezing cold of the season. It’s impossible, reason tells Izaya there is no way he can be that close—- and yet, that second of deconcentration certainly doesn’t help his case.

He knows he’s taken the wrong turn before he sees the end of the alley.

Jumping off the walls would be futile, he notices, eyeing the thick layer of ice on some parts of the ground that would make gathering momentum a task too difficult to perform under his circumstances. Should he fall, he’s done for. Too bad admitting defeat has never been his forte.

Izaya thinks he hears his knee crack due to the sudden sprint he goes for, but it definitely reaches his ears by the time the ice beneath his feet makes him lose his balance.

Ah. Now that’s unfair.

From the ground, he forces a hiss of pain down, if only not to further provoke the beast currently staring at him from the exit of the alley. And then his mind goes back to those evenings back in school, in which maths taught him about logic outcomes and biology about how cruel nature really was. Predators always went for the kill in his text books.

And yet, the bodyguard doesn’t move a single muscle for as long as he keeps their eye contact intact, mocha narrowing as red grow vicious in self-defense. Ironic, how in the end, he’s the one acting like a cornered animal. The thought makes him scowl, and the beast tilts his head, unimpressed.

He truly believes his leg is fine - it doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t hurt, it doesn’t hurt - but he can’t quite tell from his position. Waiting for the other to pounce is as unappealing and sad as admitting to himself that he might have lost more than this round.

Fire.

It is a small flame what breaks their silent staring, what gets Izaya’s attention. In the cold of the night, a lighter and the warmth it seems to bring with it looks so foreign. Everything is dark, cold, blue, gray - and _sunshine_ , still as messy as when he saw it in his bed a few days ago - and black - _purplish_ , like the bruises adorning his hips and neck - taking over the city. His. Theirs.

“Oi, flea.”

The lighter gives life to the cigarette between his lips, and all Izaya can see is red. In the butt of the cigarette, in the lighter—- reflected on a certain beast’s eyes.

“Get up.”

Now that is funny, and even being perfectly still, his leg protests in unison with his mind. A single glance back at the blond tells him he is aware of his situation, smirking despite the cigarette hanging from his lips. Izaya snorts.

“Make me.”

The hand that wraps around the front of his coat and pulls is not exactly unwanted, but the feeling of the cold wall behind him is. A coat wet due to the snow he was sitting on earlier and a brick wall colder than he expected don’t go well together, and, unprepared for it, he can do nothing to hide the shiver that wrecks his entire frame.

That red goes closer and closer, until he can’t see it from the corner of his eye. Near his ear, Shizuo chuckles.

“What the hell was that? Don’t tell me your parkour shit is turning sloppy.”

“It’s called ‘ice’. I don’t expect your simplistic mind to understand such a difficult concept.”

By now, the heat from the cigarette is way too close to his skin for comfort, and he tilts his head to the other side, looking for an escape.

“This simplistic mind of mine tells me that I can kill you right here, right now. You better start begging, Izaya.”

“My my, someone is eager today. If what you wanted was a fuck out in the cold, you should have looked for a cheap slut near the red lights district, Shizu-chan. Oh wait. That’s right, you can’t even afford that! My bad.”

The heat retreats - probably to the blond’s free hand -, and the teeth on his throat feel too promising to feel like the threat it was probably intended as. Against his skin, Shizuo’s smirk widens, which makes Izaya’s diminish in size.

“What would I need a slut for if I have you, flea? Just look at you. Eager, needy, and completely submissive.”

“That’s not true. My leg hurts and—”

“And your hands are free.”

Reflexively, Izaya’s eyes dart to his hands, and he suddenly feels like an idiot for not keeping up with the charade. Scowling, his eyes go back to staring at the end of the alley, deciding not to pay any notice to the rough laughter tickling his neck.

“You sure you didn’t hit your head too? This is just too rich.”

“Shut up. We’re not doing anything here. I’m not a whore you can just bend over your closest surface.”

“Really. Could have fooled me.”

Shizuo pulls away from his neck, eyes on his as he rises bitter nicotine to his lips and breathes in. Truthfully, the informant expects smoke on his face, and his nose scrunches up in distaste before it’s even happened.

How disgusting.

What he gets instead is those lips on his own chapped ones, and he keeps his mouth closed on purpose, taunting the beast and stopping him from fulfilling his intentions. Even like that he can almost taste the smoke behind those lips, can feel the burn on his lungs when he inhales and lets the smoke pass through.

Shotgunning is not as bad as he initially thought.

And he knows the monster is waiting for a cough, a whine, something that proved that Izaya had never smoked before—- but he’s not going to get it, and the moment his tongue nudges the blond’s, tasting more like his than of bitter coffee, he realizes this.

Drag after drag, they keep exchanging air for the slow burn that comes with future death, until his head is spinning and the cigarette is no more than a piece of burned filter on the ground. By the end of it, both are panting.

“Fuck, flea…”

There is something hard pressing against his thigh, and Izaya would wonder how someone could get like that with this cold if he wasn’t in the same situation. He gasps as two hands hoist him up, wrapping his legs around the blond currently groping his ass. The result is their crotches rubbing, and Shizuo outright groans in his ear.

“It’s too cold for this.”

“What’s wrong? Yakuza and shady deals won’t stop you, but a little bit of fresh air will? You’re ridiculous.”

“More than the guy who started this? I don’t think so.”

Izaya smirks at that, shoving his hands under the blond shirt and enjoying the way he tenses under his touch. Ah, perhaps cold hands are a _blessing_ after all…

His hands travel further up, leaving shivers at their wake—- he can’t say he doesn’t like this, having the power to bring a monster to this state.

Knowing he’s the only one capable of doing this certainly does things to his ego.

He is vaguely aware of a hand on his hip, firm and way too familiar to speak of nothing but promises he knows Shizuo can - and probably will - fulfill. He should be above all this pitiful excuse of courting, for being shoved against a wall and ending it all is more suited for an animal or a prostitute than him.

And yet, he _loves_ it.

He loves being able to bring out the side that brings grown up men to tears and sends women screaming away in horror. The side that could very easily bring him to his knees if Shizuo so wanted.

“Shizu-chan sure is excited…”

He mumbles against a strong jaw, lips curling into a smirk that only coax a growl of warning from the blond staring at him. Waiting for his next movement. For a knife to be thrown at his neck. As funny as that would be, Shizuo’s almost impenetrable skin has made the idea both frustrating and humiliating.

“Perhaps all he needs is a little attention, hm?”

Dropping to his knees should be out of the question—- after all, the snow beneath him is anything but comfortable and its cold seems to seep into his bones. And yet he finds himself facing a bulge that makes his own dick twitch.

Whether in envy or anticipation, he does not know.

Those eyes staring down at him only make him smirk, humming one of those disgustingly sweet tunes he’s been hearing all day against his thigh - ah, Shizu-chan probably loved those - if only to make sure the vibrations earned him a hiss coming from above.

It’s just too much fun.

Knowing that he’s the reason those muscles grow tense the second his hands come into view Izaya quickly gets rid of the belt and zip in front of him, not bothering to put on a show. It is cold, and as much as he loves the season, he’d rather put an end to this soon. Another round, on a much more comfortable surface… could be discussed, he guesses.

He must have spaced out for longer than he intended, because the fingers pulling on his hair are ruthless, forcing him to do something other than being still. And Izaya does, tracing a vein with his tongue oh so slowly. That alone earns him another pull.

_Impatient, aren’t we._

Now, he’d usually take his time, but the hand on his hair is a fair warning he knows better than to ignore. It would be a pity to cut their fun short before it’s even started. The head is salty, probably due to the drops of precome that hit his tongue the moment he opens his mouth wide, and he allows the bodyguard to push more of his length into it, willing his gag reflex down. An amazing feat, taking into account how far his jaw has been stretched out.

It’s bound to hurt in the morning, like many other things.

Shizuo’s cock hits the back of his throat and he gasps, trying to get in the right state of mind to take it all. He just stays still and ignores the trail of drool that threatens to drip from his mouth to the ground as the blond fucks his mouth like it is nothing but a toy, drawing out wet, squelching noises Izaya can’t quite pay attention to. There are far more important things that require it, like the demanding hand that tilts his head upwards so he can keep direct eye contact with the one that’s pounding into him.

Those eyes make him groan around the length pushing in and out of his mouth, and Shizuo swears in response. Like it is enough. Like words are not needed to decide who is in control of this whole ordeal.

“That’s a good look on you, flea…”

Too many implications, too many mysterious undertones Izaya doesn’t ever feel like unraveling; the hoarse voice he hears and the oh so patronizing hand on his hair sets the back of his neck on a fire that spreads from there to every single patch of skin he possesses.

He sees it coming before the idiot pulls out, coming on his tongue like he planned to paint it all white. Despite the somewhat sweet flavor he so claims to hate, a pull on his hair and a smirk leave no question, and he closes his mouth, swallowing the cum like he’s been told to.

“Shit…”

Dazed, he barely has time to realize he’s been hoisted up again before a hand sneaks inside his own pants, wrapping around his erection so hard and fast he cries out. The hand that wraps around his neck to silence him only makes him choke out a moan, and it hurts but _why why why—-_

“Do you want the whole city to hear how much of a slut you really are? I don’t think that’s a good idea, you know. Mostly because I’ll be caught out here with your sorry ass, and that’s not something I want.”

The hand around his neck tightens and his breath catches as the hand on his cock drags him further and further to the edge he’s precariously leaning over. It won’t be too long before it’s too much, too rough, too hot for the informant to even breathe.

He thinks his windpipe closes even further at the mere thought. Maybe, just maybe, it does.

The lack of air is slowly becoming more and more obvious, clouding his mind as crimson eyes do their best to stare at half lidded honey ones, growing unfocused in a matter of seconds. It’s too much. He can feel his eyes rolling back in his head, panic latent yet so far away from his grasp.

_Trust, trust._

It’s all about falling and _crashing_ when both hands stop.

His mouth opens in a silent scream, air rushing back into his lungs and sending his body into overdrive. The sudden range of sensations going back to his body make him close his eyes as the hand still working him through his orgasm is coated in white. Too bad he can’t pay that much attention to the hiss in his ear, or the way strong arms make sure his legs don’t buckle under his own weight. He’s too tired to come up with a comeback, a protest, something that would keep Shizuo from carrying him like the dead weight he currently is.

Maybe once he wakes up in a bed that shouldn’t feel like his own, and in the arms of violence personified… maybe then he’ll do something about it.

Now it is not the time for lies and pretenses.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! It's been so long since I last wrote anything, and this was kind of a challenge! The prompt asked for some breath play as well as dirty talk and some bsdm undertones, and boy, was it challenging. Still, I'm pleased with the result. I hope you enjoyed reading it! Merry christmas!
> 
> \- Rabu. ♥


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